“But there is one thing missing out of the tale,” Jane interposed.
“And what is that?” asked Cunningham.
“Those beads.”
“Oh, those beads! They belonged to an empress of France, and the French Government is offering sixty thousand for their return. Napoleonic. And now will you answer a question of mine? Where have you hidden them?”
Jane did not answer, but rose and left the dining salon. Silence fell upon the men until she returned. In her hand she held Ling Foo’s brass hand warmer. She set it on the table and pried back the jigsawed lid. From the heap of punk and charcoal ashes she rescued the beads and laid them on the cloth.
“Very clever. They are yours,” said Cunningham.
“Mine?”
“Why not? Findings is keepings. They are as much yours as mine.”
Jane pushed the string toward Cleigh.
“For me?” he said.